Obsession (45 page)

“Lucky her,” she said sardonically. Her head was hurting again, and she pressed her fingers to her temples. It was, as she had learned all too well, the sign of a repressed memory resurfacing.

The pain got worse, but she ignored it, concentrating. At first the memory was as amorphous as a cloud, but then, slowly, it took on shape and weight and color. She had been here in this house on that night, lying sleepless in the bedroom she’d been using, already heartily sick of learning to be Katharine but determined to see the thing through, both for her father’s sake and to a lesser degree because—
yes, be honest here
—because Nick stopped by to check on her progress every day, and she was secretly pretty wild about Nick.

Not that, at the time, she had ever meant to tell him so.

Then there had been all kinds of commotion downstairs, and she had just been getting up to see what was going on when her bedroom door opened and about half a dozen people trooped into her room. Something had come up, they told her, and it was now showtime. Then the paunchy little doctor—Dr. Freah, that was his name—had cleared everybody else out and injected her with something, and then—her memory started going fuzzy again as she tried to recall, but she could remember how hard her heart had been beating and the panic that had welled up in her throat and how her hands had curled into fists in silent, futile protest—and then nothing at all except a warm, pleasant, floating sensation. A sense of safety and well-being.

From which she’d awakened as Katharine, with a man sneaking toward her through her darkened bedroom.

The feel of Nick’s hands on her arms brought her back to the present. Blinking, taking a deep, shaking breath, she looked up at him. He was frowning down at her, his eyes narrow with worry.

“You okay?”

“No.” She flashed him a dark look. “I am definitely not okay.” Then she had a thought. “What about the second attack? The one right after I left the hospital? Was that staged, too?”

Nick shook his head. “That one was real. And whoever did it really thought you were Katharine Lawrence.”

Jenna had another thought. “The jewelry they were supposedly after, the inheritance I supposedly used to buy this ring”—she glared down at it—“none of that was real, either, was it? That weasly little doctor planted those thoughts in my mind.”

Nick made a rueful face at her. “See, we didn’t know what the first attack was about, but we were pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that Barnes was blackmailing just about everybody under the sun. At the time, I figured that he’d probably stashed some of the stuff he had on people in the town house’s safe, which Katharine had no idea was there, and somebody had come for it. But now . . .” His voice trailed off, but then he seemed to give himself a mental shake and went on. “Anyway, since you were going to be playing the role of innocent Katharine, who wasn’t an FBI informant, and since we couldn’t simply cover up the break-in and murder at the town house because the local police were already on the scene, we had to program you with an explanation for the attack that didn’t involve Barnes’s blackmail gig but that would still be believable enough to you so that you could report it to Barnes, the police, whoever, with a straight face. We’d seen that
Post
photo of you—I mean Katharine—wearing all that jewelry, so we decided to use that. As for the supposed ‘inheritance, ’ that was the money we paid Katharine to act as an informant. Just in case Barnes started checking her bank accounts, we gave you an explanation you could use.”

“Oh my God,” Jenna said. Before she could expand on that, she was interrupted by a woman’s voice saying cheerily, “I knew I heard voices. Nick, is that you? What are you doing here so late?”

Nick looked over his shoulder and Jenna did, too. A woman walked into the kitchen. About an inch taller than Jenna and athletically built, she was wearing a navy skirt and a short-sleeved white shirt that buttoned up the front, with a shoulder holster complete with gun bisecting the shirt. But that wasn’t what made Jenna’s eyes widen. The woman’s hair was short, feathery, and nut-brown. Her eyes were brown, too, a soft chocolate color that looked deeply familiar. And her face—the features—Jenna’s breath caught as she had an epiphany.

She looked down. A delicate tattoo of a trio of interconnected butterflies adorned the woman’s left ankle.

“Lisa,” she gasped.

“Special Agent Mary Slater,” the other woman corrected, meeting her gaze. “Hi, Jenna.” Then, looking at Nick, who had turned to face her, she added in a chiding tone, “She’s not supposed to be here.”

“She played the part of Lisa when we restaged what happened to Katharine that night,” Nick told her. “Complete with auburn wig, in case you somehow happened to see a picture of the real Lisa, who unfortunately was shot to death by whoever broke into Katharine’s house.” As Jenna was still absorbing this, he switched his attention to Mary Slater. “Until this is over, Jenna goes where I go. Too many people are trying to kill her out there.”

“Kill me, you mean,” a new voice said.

Jenna looked at the speaker, a blond woman clad in a pale green silky robe and slippers who had just walked up to stand behind Mary in the doorway, and her heart sped up as she experienced the weird sensation of looking at her own double. This, clearly, was Katharine Lawrence. The resemblance was uncanny—except, and it was almost unnoticeable, for the small difference in their noses. Unable to help herself, Jenna stared. After a quick, patently uninterested glance, Katharine did not stare back. The fact that she had a doppelgänger clearly wasn’t news to her. Of course, she had probably been involved all along. Who else would have been able to provide such intimate, and accurate, information about Katharine Lawrence’s life, down to the location of the front door key under the mat and the picture of the Kappa Delts, which Jenna now remembered seeing?

“Hello, Katharine,” Nick said, and there was a certain something in his tone that told Jenna that her new twin wasn’t his favorite person in the world. “I’m glad you’re up. There’s something I want to show you.”

“Of course I’m up. I’m a nervous wreck. Do you think I can sleep? I watch TV instead, because there’s nothing else in this hellhole to do.” She turned on her heel and walked away, throwing back over her shoulder, “I’m watching
Letterman.
If you have something to show me, you can show me in the living room.”

“The diva rules,” Mary whispered to Nick with a roll of her eyes, then turned to follow Katharine.

Nick made a face, but he followed Katharine, too. Jenna followed Nick.

In the living room, which was a replica of the town-house living room, gray walls, charcoal couch, glass-topped tables and all, Katharine sank down on the couch, ignoring the trio that watched her from the doorway. On TV, Letterman was interviewing Drew Barrymore. Nick gave Katharine a grim look, then walked over to the coffee table, picked the remote right up off the top of
Rose Gardens of the South
, and turned the TV off.

“Damn it, I was watching that.” Katharine slewed around on the couch to glare at him.

“You can turn it back on—just as soon as you tell me what this is.” Nick pulled the cat collar complete with thumb drive from his pocket and dangled it in front of her.

Katharine’s eyes widened. For a moment she looked alarmed, then sulky. She folded her arms across her chest.

“So you found that. So what?”

“I need you to tell me what it is.”

Her lips pursed. She huffed out a breath and crossed her legs.

“A thumb drive.”

“I know that. Now tell me something I don’t know.” Nick was being very patient, in Jenna’s opinion, but there was a tightness around his mouth and eyes that told her that his patience was stretching thin.

“It’s insurance, okay?”

“What kind of insurance?” Nick waited, but Katharine didn’t say anything else. “Look, you don’t get the rest of the money or a free ride in the Witness Protection Program unless I’m satisfied that you’ve cooperated to the best of your ability.” He paused, giving her the kind of look that reminded Jenna that he was an FBI agent first and foremost. “What kind of insurance?”

“You people are always threatening me,” Katharine burst out. “I’m putting my life on the line here, and you’re still always threatening me. Why do you suppose I downloaded that in the first place? To make sure the fucking FBI lived up to its end of the fucking bargain.” She glared at Nick, then flounced into a different position on the couch, hunching an elegant shoulder at him and staring determinedly at the dark TV. "You can all go to hell.”

“I’m going to go plug this into the computer in the office upstairs,” Nick said to Katharine’s averted face. “Is there anything you want to tell me before I watch it?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Katharine said without looking at him.

Nick’s lips tightened, and he and Mary exchanged silent glances. Then he turned without another word and headed for the stairs. Katharine picked up the remote from the table where Nick had left it and turned the TV back on. “I’d like my ring back, by the way,” she said, stretching her hand, palm out, toward Jenna.

“Oh. Sure.” Jenna glanced down at the big sapphire ring, pulled it from her finger, and crossed the room to drop it in Katharine’s palm.

“And the earrings,” Katharine said without looking at her. Jenna complied. Katharine glanced at the baubles in her hand, closed her fist around them, and thrust them into the pocket of her robe. Ignoring Jenna completely, she focused on the TV.

Jenna retreated toward the door.

“Want to watch
Letterman
?” Mary asked Jenna wryly.

Jenna shook her head. What she wanted to do was follow Nick. On her way out of the living room, she saw Muffy, who’d been keeping a very low profile since stalking away from them in the kitchen, emerge from behind the couch. She brushed against Katharine’s ankles, and Katharine shoved her away with an impatient foot.

“Fucking cat,” Katharine said.

Watching herself behave badly was not, Jenna discovered, a pleasant experience, so she headed up the stairs after Nick.

He was in the smaller, guest bedroom, which, she discovered, looked nothing like the guest bedroom in her—no, whoops, Katharine’s—town house. This one had been outfitted as an office, with a state-of-the-art computer system. The door was open, so she walked on in.

Nick was standing in front of the monitor, leaning over a little, hands gripping the back of the chair that was pushed beneath the desk in front of him so hard that his knuckles showed white. She couldn’t see what was playing on the monitor, but she could see his reaction. He was still as stone as he watched it. It didn’t even look like he was breathing.

She was just about to say something to him when, from downstairs, a woman’s shrill, obviously terrified scream sent every tiny hair on her body catapulting upright.

The scream was followed by an explosion of gunfire.

28

Nick and she whipped around as one, staring stupefied at the open bedroom door. Beyond it, they could see nothing but empty hallway. But still, menace hung in the air as tangibly as smoke.

“Run, Katharine,” Mary bellowed.

More gunfire.

Another horrifying scream from downstairs sent Jenna’s pulse rate skyrocketing.

“No! Please, n—” a woman cried. Jenna was almost sure the voice was Katharine’s.

The
pop
of a single shot interrupted.

Jenna’s heart gave a great leap. Her stomach turned inside out. A cold chill snaked down her spine. It was impossible not to realize what had just happened: Katharine—possibly Katharine and Mary—had just been shot. The silence was ominous. If Mary was alive, wouldn’t she be returning fire? Unless she was hiding, or being held at gunpoint . . .

In any case, the assailants were still in the house.

“Jesus.” There was stark, cold fear in Nick’s voice. He moved swiftly to the bedroom door, his gun in his hand, his feet almost noiseless on the hardwood floor. His face wore the harsh, hard-eyed expression of the government agent that he was.

He looked back at her, beckoning her urgently to join him. Heart pounding, Jenna did. He touched his finger to his lips, then put his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “I’ve got to go do what I can to help Mary, and I can’t leave you behind. Whatever happens, stay as close to me as possible. Do what I tell you, when I tell you.”

She nodded. He gripped her hand. Then he stepped silently out into the hall, leading with his gun, moving quickly toward the top of the stairs. Jenna followed him, her fingers entwined with his, trying to move as quickly and quietly as she could on legs that had gone all rubbery. She was breathing too fast, she realized, and her pulse raced. As they reached the top of the stairs, there was still no one in sight. The only sound from below was a faint explosion of laughter from the TV.

Straining her ears, she tried to listen for the telltale sounds of someone in the house. Between the TV and her own pulse thundering in her ears, she picked up on nothing. But she was absolutely sure that she hadn’t heard the sound of anyone leaving the house, either.

Was it possible that the shooters knew she and Nick were there? Could they be lying in wait for them downstairs?

Jenna was horribly afraid the answer was yes.

With a single glance back at her, Nick started down the stairs, still leading with his gun, still holding her hand. Her heart was thumping so hard now that it felt like a living creature trying to beat its way out of her chest. Every tiny creak of the stairs, every small scuffling sound from their shoes on the wood risers, made her breath catch. Her scalp prickled with tension. Her knees shook. Nick kept his back to the wall, and she tried to follow suit. She could tell from the way his head was moving that he was carefully scanning the area they were descending into. About halfway down, their heads cleared the upstairs landing and they were able to see more than just the rectangle of hallway directly beneath them: a tiny slice of the living room, the dark wooden floor that stretched to the front door and, going the other way, to the kitchen.